


Life as an Action Figure

by jessie_pie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, Gen, Humor, Minor Destiel, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessie_pie/pseuds/jessie_pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate point of view for I Believe the Children Are Our Future (Season Five, Episode Six): Thanks to Jesse, Castiel has a sojourn as the Plasticine Man.<br/>And he’s awake for the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life as an Action Figure

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural is not the property of the author of this fic. Thanks to Osito for betaing!

Angels could, theoretically, live forever, but Castiel had never expected to be immortal. He was a soldier, and all soldiers fall in battle eventually. But not like this. _Turned into a plastic doll by a small child…_ Castiel thought he understood a new human thing now: humiliation. _This is not how it was supposed to end._  
Vibrations. Strong vibrations. Coming closer and threatening to tip over his flimsy pedestal. _A new indignity. Excellent._ The vibrations were evenly spaced, rhythmic. Footsteps. If Castiel could have moved, he would have gritted his teeth. Not only was Dean probably going to get himself killed, he was going to see him like this. If he didn’t step on him first. Castiel was suddenly aware of how high the dark wooden molding was.  
Dean didn’t step on him. The earth-shaking steps came to a stop. A slight change in the lighting told Castiel that Dean was bending over him. Cas thought he might have preferred being trampled.  
A sense of motion. He was being picked up. Dean’s massive thumb was planted firmly over his crotch. Castiel remembered how Dean had insulted Uriel when they were hunting Anna, and was secretly glad that the term applied to his thankfully immobile plastic form.  
Dean set him on the mantelpiece, visible to everyone. Thankfully, they were not paying attention to him. Instead, they were explaining the situation to Jesse. At least, the brothers called it explaining. Castiel thought another word might be more appropriate, as the term "explanation" implied a certain amount of honesty.  
Castiel could not understand how the child believed half of the things the Winchesters were saying. Cambions were as indecipherable as humans.  
 _What are the X-Men?_ He wondered. There was a picture in Dean’s mind of a dignified looking man in a suit who was seated in a wheelchair. _How is that man like Bobby Singer?_  
Castiel gave up trying to follow the conversation and concentrated on the sound of Dean’s voice instead. It was impossibly deep and slow. Somehow, it seemed that being turned into plastic had affected his hearing, too. The cambion’s mind was a very strange place indeed.  
More vibrations. Stronger this time. _A fight._ A fight and he couldn’t help. It was hard to watch Sam and Dean being thrown about like rag dolls while he tottered on the mantle, unable to help. Worse than unable. A particularly resounding crash overbalanced him- _stupid tiny pedestal_ \- now he wished he could move- _not the fireplace, please not the fireplace_ \- and sent him crashing to the floor, pinned beneath the fireplace grate. He was learning more and more about the human concept of humiliation.  
Sometime later, after becoming better acquainted with the wood grain of the Turner’s floor than he had ever hoped to be, a sense of motion. Someone had picked Castiel up again. Dean did not hold him very steadily and, while Cas did not blame him- being thrown against the wall by a demon tended to leave one off-balance- he was forced to remind himself that angels of the Lord did _not_ get motion sickness, and neither did plastic figurines. He was grateful when Dean put him down on the mantelpiece, even though it was alarmingly narrow and embarrassingly visible. The distorted sounds of human speech continued for a while, then there were the vibrations of feet again. The Winchesters had left the room.  
And Dean had left him.  
Castiel had just resigned himself to standing on the mantelpiece for all eternity, when the floor came rushing up to meet him, his arms and legs lengthening rapidly, his coat flexing and flopping as it transformed from plastic to cloth. He managed to land on all fours, gasping from the shock. After studying the same patch of wood floor for a few moments, he stood up, unsteadily at first, and teleported upstairs. There were worse things to be than a fallen angel, and he was glad to be back.


End file.
